


Blood Red Roses

by Luka



Series: Iceman [12]
Category: Primeval
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-13
Updated: 2008-08-13
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:53:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luka/pseuds/Luka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>  Ryan and Stephen's lives change beyond recognition</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Red Roses

  
  
  
  
  


**Entry tags:**

| 

  
[abby](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/abby), [blade](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/blade), [claire](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/claire), [connor](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/connor), [ditzy](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/ditzy), [fic](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [finn](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/finn), [gran](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/gran), [iceman](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/iceman), [kermit](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/kermit), [lester](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/lester), [lyle](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/lyle), [nick](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/nick), [preston](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/preston), [ryan](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/ryan), [series](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/series), [slash](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/slash), [stephen](http://lukadreaming.livejournal.com/tag/stephen)  
  
  
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Title:  Blood Red Roses  
Author: Luka  
Characters: Stephen Hart, Tom Ryan, Nick Cutter, James Lester, Abby Maitland, Connor Temple, Jon Lyle, Ditzy, Finn, Blade, Claire, Major Preston, Gran  
Rating: 18  
Disclaimer: Not mine (apart from Claire, Gran and Major Preston), I'm just playing and won't make a penny out of them. I'll put them back when I'm finished, honest!  
Spoilers: Nope.  
Pairing: Stephen/Ryan  
Summary:  Ryan and Stephen's lives change beyond recognition  
A/N: Number 12 in The Iceman series, the final one in this sequence, although there will be others in this universe. There are links to the earlier stories at the top of my LJ. Jon Lyle and the rest of the SF lads appear by kind permission of [](http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/profile)[**fredbassett**](http://fredbassett.livejournal.com/) (and thanks to her, as always, for the beta – and for the hand grenade idea and research!) I've located CMU in the Midlands, on the basis that we're told in episode one that it's not far from the Forest of Dean.

  


Stephen took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to punch the guy's teeth down his smug throat. "I'm Captain Ryan's fiancé."

"I see. But we need to know his legal next-of-kin." The doctor couldn't look Stephen in the eye.

"You're saying I count for nothing because it's a gay relationship?" Stephen's temper was rising.

"It's not that, but …"

"Then what is it?"

"Sir James Lester, Prime Minister's Office. Is there a problem, doctor?" Lester materialised as if from nowhere, making Stephen jump.

"Well, no, but … We need the patient's legal next-of-kin."

"I see. Do you know who that is, Stephen?"

"His Gran, I think."

"Shall I phone her, or would you prefer to?"

"I will …"

"Very good. And doctor, I expect Dr Hart to be kept fully appraised of the patient's condition. As he has no doubt told you, they are about to embark on a civil partnership."

The doctor nodded, clearly recognising an immovable force when he saw one. "As soon as we have news, I'll ensure Dr Hart is informed. Captain Ryan's in the operating theatre now, but I think you should know the prognosis isn't good." He nodded to them and disappeared back through the swing doors.

"His fucking bedside manner stinks," snarled Ditzy.

"Stephen, once you've spoken to Ryan's grandmother, I'll arrange a car to go and collect her."

Stephen nodded. "Thank you."

"Lieutenant Owen, I shall appreciate a chat with both Major Preston and Lieutenant Lyle as soon as convenient."

Ditzy nodded. "I'll tell them, sir. Stephen, let's go and make those phonecalls. If the Major agrees, and he's sure to, Kermit can go and collect Mrs Ryan straightaway, and save Sir James the trouble of arranging a car."

Lester nodded. "Very well. Keep me in touch with what arrangements are made, please."

~*~*~*

The waiting room was small, claustrophobic and painted pink. Ditzy shinned up onto the windowsill and levered the tiny fanlight window open. "Stephen, I'm going to phone Lyle, then get us some coffee and something to eat."

Stephen nodded. "Thanks. I'm not hungry, though …"

"I'll be back soon as I can. Text me if you need me. We'll phone Mrs Ryan when I get back."

Stephen curled up on the small, tatty sofa. His head was pounding and he felt sick. He squeezed his eyes tight, trying to shut out the image of Ryan's ripped and bleeding flesh.

"Are you OK?" A man was standing in the doorway. Fuck, a priest.

"My partner's in the operating theatre."

"My name's Alan, and I'm one of the hospital chaplains. If you'd like to talk, or pray for her …"

"It's a he. And I'm a scientist. I don't believe in fairy tales."

He'd expected the double whammy to send the guy packing. Instead, though, the man moved into the room and closed the door. "God loves us all …"

"Please, spare me the 'love the sinner and not the sin' shit. And it would be hypocritical of me to start praying suddenly."

"God reaches out to us all in times of need …"

"Fucking hell, do they teach you these homilies at vicar school? I'd like you to leave me alone, please."

"I can see you're distressed, but …"

"There's clearly something wrong with your hearing, mate. Maybe that dog collar's cut off the blood supply to your ears." Ditzy was in the doorway, glowering.

"I just want to …"

"Yeah, whatever. But not now. In fact, not ever. Please leave us alone."

The guy was staring at Ditzy's stained and dusty combat gear and clearly decided not to labour the case. "Of course. If …"

"Yes. Goodbye." Ditzy escorted the bloke to the door and closed it firmly behind him. He then set two cups of coffee, some packets of sandwiches and bars of chocolate on the low table. "Stephen, drink some of this coffee."

"I'm not …"

"You're not going to be the slightest use if you keel over from hunger and thirst. So humour me and get something down you, or I'll force-feed you."

Stephen obeyed mechanically, drinking the cup of very sweet coffee, and managing half the sandwich.

"I've spoken to Lyle and he'll be over soon. Shall we ring Mrs Ryan now?"

Stephen nodded and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through the address book until he found the number, then took a deep breath and pressed dial. The phone rang for an age, before an answer machine clicked in. The brisk, pleasant voice invited him to leave a message. "Mrs Ryan, it's Stephen. Tom's Stephen. Please will you phone me as soon as you get this message. It doesn't matter what time it is. Please phone me soon as you can."

Ditzy nodded approvingly. "Best way of dealing with it. Now, eat the rest of that sandwich, and then I'll stop playing mother hen."

~*~*~*

Stephen must have drowsed, because he suddenly sat up, his head aching and a sour taste in his mouth. Lyle, Kermit and Ditzy were talking in low voices. And Connor and Abby were on the sofa next to him, looking very frightened.

"What's happened? Is there any news?"

Lyle shook his head. "James is upstairs with the chief executive, making veiled threats about the Official Secrets Act. Ditzy said you haven't managed to raise Ryan's Gran yet."

"No. I'll try again." It was still the answer machine, so he said: "It's Stephen again. Please phone me when you get this."

"OK, I'm going to phone Major Preston and tell him the latest. And I’ll send Kermit home. If Mrs Ryan phones back tonight, I'll either go and fetch her myself, or one of the lads can go in the morning."

"If he survives the night …" The words were out of Stephen's mouth before he could stop them.

Lyle just stared at him. "He will."

~*~*~*

They sat in silence, all seemingly engrossed with their own thoughts. Abby had suddenly shuffled down the sofa and cuddled up to Stephen. He put his arms round her, thinking how tiny and frail she felt. To his surprise, Connor huddled up to him as well. It felt curiously comforting having them both there.

Lyle's phone rang, making them all jump. "Sir. No, no news. Stephen can't raise Mrs Ryan, so he's left messages on her answer machine. No, nothing to panic her. I'm going to send Kermit home, as there's no sense in all of us hanging around. We'll be glad of him and Blade and Finn to spell us tomorrow. If Mrs Ryan phones back tonight, I'll go and get her, or someone can go in the morning first thing. Oh, OK, fair enough. Have you …? Yeah, and I hope fucking Cutter rots in hell for this. Goodbye, sir."

"Preston?" Ditzy nibbled a square of chocolate.

Lyle blew out his cheeks and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah. He's been to see Rick, Joe and Con's families. Poor bastards. And he's gunning for Lester and Cutter, not surprisingly. Kermit, you might as well go home. The Major's going to phone a mate of his down in Wiltshire and get him to send a car for Mrs Ryan once she's ready to travel."

"But …"

"Don't give me shit today, Kermit. Go home and sleep. We'll talk in the morning and decide what's best to do then."

"You'll phone me if you have any news, won't you?"

"Of course."

Kermit stood up and looked awkwardly at Stephen. "Stephen, look, the boss is going to make it, I know he will …"

Stephen nodded. "Cheers, mate. I know he will as well."

Ditzy stood up and stretched. "I'll walk with you to the car, Kermit. Then I'll get some coffees. Anyone want anything to eat?"

Everyone shook their heads. Abby was almost asleep cuddled up to Stephen, and Connor seemed lost in thought. Stephen had started to drowse when his mobile went off, giving him the shock of his life. It was Gran.

"Sorry it’s so late, darling, but I've been out playing whist with some friends. Where are you, Stephen? And where's Tom? Is he OK?"

"He's been badly injured, Mrs Ryan, and we think you should come. We're in Birmingham and they're operating on him now. Major Preston's going to send a car for you."

Her voice wavered slightly, but she said: "I'll get my overnight bag ready, darling, and then be waiting for the car when it comes. I'll see you soon, Stephen."

Lyle was already phoning Major Preston. "Sir, it's Lyle. Mrs Ryan has just phoned Stephen and is ready for the car to pick her up, soon as you can arrange it. And make it tonight, sir, please."

~*~*~*

It was almost 2.30am when Mrs Ryan arrived, a young soldier carrying her bag for her. Stephen hugged her and led her to a seat.

"Stephen, tell me what's happened."

He rubbed his eyes and gave her the expurgated version that he and Lyle had agreed on earlier, in consultation with the Major, that Ryan had been injured on a classified exercise. She accepted it without question, as they'd known she would.

"Darling, the army's in our family blood. I've seen my husband and my son die for their country. But I hoped that my darling Tom would outlive me." She suddenly looked tiny and very frail, and Stephen took her in his arms. "Is he still in the operating theatre?"

"We assume so. No one's told us otherwise and getting information out of them isn't easy. They only want to deal with next of kin, which is you."

She humphed. "Ridiculous. You're Tom's partner and they should respect that. Shall I go and see if I can get any news out of them?"

"I'll come with you …"

The door flew open and everyone jumped. It was Major Preston. He strode into the room and held out his hand to Mrs Ryan. "Mrs Ryan? I'm Major Preston, Tom's CO. You've just arrived?"

"Yes, Major. Thank you for organising the car."

"Pleasure. Now, do we have any news of Tom?"

"None, sir," said Lyle. "We don't even know if he's still in theatre." He and Ditzy had got to their feet. Abby and Connor were curled up, fast asleep.

"Right, let's go and get some damn commonsense out of someone. Mrs Ryan and Dr Hart, come with me."

The Major strode off down the corridor. Stephen offered Mrs Ryan his arm, and they went after him at a slower pace. He could see she was tired and frightened, but putting on a brave face.

"He's going to make it, Mrs Ryan, he's a fighter."

She nodded and touched his cheek. "I know, darling. And I think it's time you called me Gran."

~*~*~*

"Mrs Ryan, Dr Hart, Major Preston … I'm sorry we've not had news for you before now, but the operation was a long one." The surgeon ushered them into a spartan office, enlivened only by a mounted cricket ball on his desk. "Let me bring you up to date on Tom's progress. He will of course need other operations, but he's done very well considering, with this first one."

"You didn't expect him to survive," said Gran briskly.

"Well, there's always a risk …"

"Mr Thomas, we want the truth."

"Of course … Yes, there was a strong chance Tom wouldn't make it through the operation. He'd lost a great deal of blood, and at one point as fast as we gave him transfusions, the blood was pouring straight out again. In fact, we had to resuscitate him twice on the operating table. The next 48 hours are going to be critical for his survival, although we obviously have no idea if or when he will come round. It's too early to say what lasting injuries there might be if he survives."

"Like brain damage?" asked Stephen, his mouth dry.

The surgeon nodded. "He'll need extensive skin grafts and plastic surgery as well. There may also be lasting damage to his vocal cords, as his throat was badly damaged in the attack."

"Can we see him?"

"He's in intensive care, so we can't have too many people round the bed. And I should warn you that he's wearing a mask to protect the damaged skin."

Major Preston had been watching the exchange quietly. He said: "Mr Thomas, I think it best if his grandmother and his partner stay with him tonight. I trust you and your staff will ensure Dr Hart is kept up to speed on every aspect of the Captain's treatment."

"Of course, but …"

"They have a civil partnership organised for September. I'd be very disappointed if I thought the hospital were being inflexible and unsympathetic and laying themselves open to accusations of homophobia …"

The surgeon bristled. "There's no question of us treating Dr Hart any differently from any other partner."

"I'm delighted to hear it. Now, perhaps you'd like to find someone to show Mrs Ryan and Dr Hart the way to intensive care. And if you'd give us a minute alone …"

"Of course."

Once the surgeon had stepped out of the room, Preston said: "You two should stay with Tom tonight. I'll organise a rota from the morning so there will always be someone with him. Mrs Ryan, where are you staying?"

"At ours," said Stephen immediately.

"In that case there will be a car at your disposal to bring you up to Birmingham every day. And you're welcome to take advantage of it as well, Dr Hart …"

"Thanks Major, but I'll stay up in Birmingham."

"Your choice. But you will get plenty of rest. You'll be no good to Tom if you keel over with exhaustion."

Stephen nodded, sensing that the Major wasn't a man to be argued with. And he did have a point. He'd work out what to do in the morning.

"Right, I'll send Ditzy and Lyle off home for a kip. I'll have 40 winks downstairs, then sit with Tom in the morning. I want a word with Sir James as well soon as I can. Has he been in?"

"Yes. He was rattling cages when Tom was admitted."

"Good. I'll see you both later." He shook hands with Mrs Ryan, touched Stephen on the shoulder, then strode off down the corridor.

~*~*~*

The first thing that struck Stephen about the intensive care unit was the noise, with machines constantly on the go, and alarms sounding frequently. A brisk Scottish woman, who introduced herself as Naomi, the matron, stood over them while they disinfected their hands and put on protective overalls.

"Tom's going to be very susceptible to infection," she explained briskly. "And I should warn you that he's not pretty to look at. He's wired up to lots of machines, and the surgeon has put a cotton mask over his face."

"Can we hold his hand?" asked Stephen.

She nodded. "Just so long as you smother yourself in the cleansing gel both when you enter and leave the unit. And I don't know what nonsense you've had spouted at you by the doctors, but we know you're Tom's boyfriend, and we'll make sure you know exactly what's going on."

Stephen could have hugged her. "Thank you!"

"Right, come over and see him. And keep talking to him, won't you?"

Even though they'd been warned, Stephen nearly broke down at the sight of his lover, and only his arm round Gran's waist stopped her falling. He helped her to a chair, then pulled another one up next to hers. Ryan was barely visible beneath a bank of machines and tubes. He seemed shrunken in the huge bed. The white cotton mask covering his face and neck gave him a ghostly appearance. The only skin visible was his fingers.

"Oh, Tom …" Gran began to cry, and Stephen hugged her, near to tears himself. But he couldn't cry, he had to be strong, he had to get them through this and be there for Ryan.

Eventually Gran dried her eyes with a tissue, squeezed Stephen's arm and reached out for Ryan's hand. She said briskly: "I spoke to Trudy just before I left, Tom, and they all send their love. She says she takes a very dim view of all of this if it's an excuse to get out of helping her get all the stuff down from the loft in the main house when they come over in September! Did I tell you Sophie's been picked for the school hockey team? And Joshua won a prize for best project in history at school last week …"

Gran's voice was gentle and comforting. She'd taken hold of Stephen's left hand and he had his right on what he thought was Ryan's thigh. It felt like they were a circle that could never be broken.

~*~*~*

At 8am the next morning the nurses gently shooed them away to get some breakfast while they did some more tests and changed Ryan's dressings. The canteen was busy, and Gran found a table while Stephen loaded the tray with cereal and fruit. He checked his mobile, which was overflowing with messages. Abby said he could come and stay with them for as long as he needed. Nick stuttered and hesitated and asked Stephen to phone him. Claudia sent her love and told him to ring if he wanted anything. Lyle said Blade and Finn were coming over at 9am and would take over the bedside vigil. "And don't give them any shit, Stephen. It's orders from the Major and we all agree with him. We don't know how long this is all going to go on for, and we need to pace ourselves so we're there every damn minute of the day for Ryan. You go and rest, and make sure Mrs Ryan does as well. I'll see you at 5pm."

Stephen texted back his agreement, then sent Abby a message thanking her and saying he'd really appreciate that, and he'd be with her in about an hour. He then went back inside to tell Gran what the plans were.

~*~*~*

Stephen left Blade and Finn, who both looked nervous and out of place amidst all the activity in the unit, conferring with the Major on who would take first shift. Stephen walked Gran down to the car that was waiting to take her to Hereford. He gave her the house keys and asked her to tell Sadie what had happened – and he had a strong suspicion that Gran would end up in Sadie's spare room. He then called a cab, realising he was too exhausted to get to Abby's any other way.

Abby welcomed him with a hug, brewed him some fresh coffee and then threw his clothes into the washing machine while he had a shower. He hadn't noticed they'd been spattered with blood. Connor, who was hovering worriedly, found him a too-short and too small dressing gown to wear.

"How is he?" Abby set a cooked breakfast in front of Stephen, and he ate it gratefully, having only picked at the cereal earlier.

"Not good. They didn't expect him to survive the operation, because as fast as they gave him blood transplants, it all poured back out again. And if he does come round, they're not sure if he'll have brain damage, and he'll need skin grafts and plastic surgery. They've got this weird face mask thing on him …" He didn't know how he managed to sound so matter-of-fact.

"Stephen, the Captain's a fighter. He'll make it."

He nodded. "I know. And he's got all these people who care about him. The Major's set up a rota so he'll always have someone by his bedside …"

"Have you spoken to Nick?"

"Nope. He left a message on my phone, but I don't want to listen to his self-pitying shit about how he didn't really leave Tom to die …"

Abby nodded and said briskly: "Deal with Nick later. Right, go and have a sleep. I've changed the sheets on my bed, and I'll put your clothes in the tumble dryer. I've got to go to the zoo for a couple of hours, but I'll be back early afternoon. I tried to put it off, but Tim's being a bumbling idiot as usual. Connor will be here if you need anything."

Connor nodded, and Stephen could see he was trying to be brave, despite clearly being frightened witless by what was happening. "Thanks guys, I really appreciate this."

Abby hugged him and he kissed the top of her head. Connor embraced him awkwardly, patting his shoulder. "The Captain's going to be fine, Stephen, I know he is …"

~*~*~*

Stephen found that he lost all track of time when he was sitting by the still figure in the bed. But when he heard the raised voices outside the unit, he glanced up to the window and saw it was getting dark outside. Naomi tutted loudly and marched towards the doors. As she opened them, Stephen heard a familiar Scottish voice. He jumped to his feet and followed her out.

Nick was in the corridor arguing with Lyle. Blade was looming over them.

"You're not welcome here at the moment, Professor," said Lyle coldly. "Please go."

"I just want to see Captain Ryan …"

"Now really isn't the time. We'd like you to leave."

"And I want to talk to Stephen, to explain …"

"At the moment Stephen's got more pressing things on his mind than your ego, Cutter."

"Stephen, please let me …"

"Go away, Nick. Now's not the time." Stephen had wanted to scream and shout at Nick, but suddenly he was too tired.

"Blade, please will you see the Professor off the premises. He's not staying."

"It'll be a pleasure, boss …"

~*~*~*

Stephen could remember the exact time that Ryan came round from his coma – 4.17am on Tuesday June 24, ten days after the attack. He'd been drowsing, holding lightly onto Ryan's right hand. The sudden slight pressure roused him immediately. He could see the soldier's eyes flickering and dived for the button.

Naomi bustled over. "What is it, Stephen?"

"He's awake …"

She leaned over and her stern face broke into a smile. "So he is. Nice to have you back with us, Captain Ryan. No, don't try to say anything. Now I realise my hand isn't as elegant as Stephen's, but I want you to press my fingers. Yes, excellent. Now, let's roust that lazy young Dr Patel from his bed …"

Stephen grabbed hold of Ryan's hand in both of his, kissing the knuckles. "Welcome back, sleeping beauty …" Then his throat dried up as tears pricked at his eyes. He took a deep breath and wondered if he should go and phone Gran before or after the doctor had been.

Naomi seemed to read his mind, because she touched his shoulder briefly and said: "Let Dr Patel look him over, then we can ring Mrs Ryan. Where is she?"

"In Hereford, staying with Tom's neighbour."

"In that case, she can come over in the morning when we've got him settled and any tests have been done. And we can let the Major know as well."

Dr Patel bounced in, looking as usual like he'd slept in his clothes. He was a friendly, cheeky guy who possessed the perfect bedside manner, but missed nothing. "So the Captain's deigned to join us again?"

Stephen nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"The lovely Naomi said he squeezed your hand, and did the same to her when she asked him a question."

Stephen nodded again.

"Good. Let's take a look at our man, then. Morning, Captain Ryan. No, don't say anything for the moment. I'm Dr Patel, but everyone calls me Ash, apart from Naomi here who seems to think my name's Sodding! Right, I want to ask you some questions, but I don't want you using your voice for the moment. So it'll be one squeeze for yes, two for no. Do you understand? Excellent. OK, now, is Tony Blair prime minister? Well done, Captain, we'll have you on Mastermind yet …"

~*~*~*

Stephen was in an almost deserted canteen trying to force down a mug of coffee and a stale scone when Dr Patel appeared. He liberated a sandwich and mug of tea from the counter and sat down beside Stephen, rubbing his eyes.

"I should have listened to my mum and dad and become a barrister. I'd be tucked up in bed now with a pretty girl beside me."

Stephen smiled. He knew from Naomi, who had a barely-hidden soft spot for Dr Patel, that he was married to his childhood sweetheart, also a doctor, and was the doting father of a three-year-old son.

"You've phoned his grandmother to tell her he's woken up?"

"Not yet. I wanted to hear what you had to say."

Dr Patel nodded, and sipped his tea thoughtfully. "Obviously we're going to be doing batteries of tests, but early indications suggest he knows where he is and what's going on. That doesn't absolutely rule out brain damage, but it's a positive sign. I said he could try to form one word, as it's certain his vocal cords have been damaged, but what he said was understandable. D'you know what he said?"

Stephen shook his head.

"Your name." Dr Patel favoured him with a smile. "I had to assure him that you hadn't run away to sea and that you'd been shooed out so we could poke and prod him without you breathing down our necks!"

Stephen looked away, biting his lip.

"There's a long way to go, Stephen, and he's going to need extensive plastic surgery and skin grafts, but the fact he's got this far is nothing short of a miracle. I don't ask too many questions, as this intensive care unit is wrapped up in more red tape than the Home Office archives. I just do my job and get those soldiers back on their feet again. But if I was a betting man, I'd say something very large and very bad-tempered had gored and savaged Captain Ryan."

Stephen shrugged and looked away. The doctor's phone beeped and he checked it, frowning. "That matron on high dependency is nearly as scary as Naomi, so I'd better scoot. Now, why don't you go back to the ward and sit with him again. Once it's light you can phone his Gran and she can come and see him."

"Dr Patel … Thank you."

He grinned. "Pleasure. You'd better invite me to your wedding thingy. I like a good do. And call me Ash."

~*~*~*

"It's like New Street station at rush hour! Am I going to have many more soldiers tramping through in their hob-nailed boots? Tom needs rest." Naomi sounded irritated, but Stephen was learning that the time to worry was when her voice went even and quiet.

"Once they've seen him, they'll be happy."

"He's got a hell of a long way to go …"

"I know. But they were told he was dead, so you can't blame them for wanting to see the proof that he isn't." It was at times like this that Stephen realised just how close the Special Forces lads were. They'd turned up en masse at 9am. Ryan had fallen asleep a lot, but he'd also managed to whisper a few words to each person.

"I know. Sorry. I'm just being grumpy." Stephen knew why – the guy at the end, who'd been badly injured in an ambush in Afghanistan, had died overnight. Naomi favoured Stephen with a brief smile. "Why don't you let a couple of them make themselves useful and sit with him today, and you go home and sleep for 24 hours."

"I'm OK …"

"The matron's right, Dr Hart. I shall be leaving in half an hour to go back to Hereford. You can travel back with me." Major Preston was like Lester in that he seemed to materialise when you least wanted him to.

"Thanks, Major, but …"

"Darling, you look exhausted. Go home and have a bath and sleep for a bit." Gran hugged him. She smelled of roses and soap, and for some reason it made him want to cry.

"That's decided, then," said Preston. "Ditzy and Mrs Ryan will stay with Tom this morning, then Finn and Lyle can take over this afternoon. I'll be back for tonight and I don't want to see you here before lunchtime tomorrow."

Stephen was suddenly too tired to argue. And he did need some more clothes. If he came back on the motorbike, he wouldn't be reliant on Abby and taxis for getting around. "OK. Thanks, Major."

"I'll see you outside in half an hour, then. Matron, may we speak to the consultant before we leave?"

"I'll phone him for you, Major Preston."

"Thank you. Mrs Ryan, Dr Hart, I hope you won't mind if I sit in on the chat with Mr Thomas?"

"Of course not, Major. You need to hear what's said." Gran looked better than she'd done for several days, and Stephen suspected Sadie's company and good food was helping.

Thomas was his usual brisk self, and Stephen wondered if one of the conditions of becoming a consultant was that you lost all vestiges of bedside manner. "We're delighted with Tom's progress, but we shall be keeping him heavily sedated so he can't move around and open up the wounds."

"How long will that take?" asked Stephen.

"A couple of weeks, I'm afraid, until we can see whether everything is healing cleanly. And there's a big risk of infection as well."

"So he won't be able to get out of bed for ages?"

"No. If you want it in the crudest terms, the Captain is a giant patchwork quilt. And it's going to take months for those scars to heal and for those on his face to be at the stage where they can start to tidy him up. You're going to have to be very patient."

"What about other operations?"

"We can't think about skin grafts and plastic surgery for the time being. I have, though, asked the speech therapist and the psychiatrist to come and assess him. And before you ask me the leading question, which Tom has already asked me twice, no, I can't tell you yet if he will ever be fit again for active service."

~*~*~*

Stephen shut the front door behind him and sat down on the bottom stair, his head in his hands. Christ, he felt like he'd been run over by a JCB. He'd told Sadie he was home, and had to dissuade her from dragging him indoors and putting him to bed for a week. Eventually he levered himself upright and went upstairs to run a bath, tipping half a bottle of Radox into it. Ryan thought bubble bath was poncy and would have been complaining roundly about the smell. Stephen sat on the edge of the bath, shivering despite the heat, and wondered whether Ryan would ever come home again.

He topped the bath up with hot water twice, fell asleep twice, and eventually clambered out just before midday. He crawled into bed, hugging the pillow that still smelled of Ryan to his face, and slept.

The doorbell woke him just after 6pm. It was Claire and a tiny slip of a girl.

"Claire …"

She hugged him. "How you doing?"

"I'm OK."

"Fibber! This is Cara. She's Darren's wife."

"Darren?"

"Kermit. Pleased to meet you, Stephen." Cara's hand was tiny in his. She looked about 12.

"Oh, sorry, I don't think I've ever been told his real name. And pleased to meet you too. Cara."

"I hear Major Preston packed you off home," said Claire.

"Yep. Is there anyone alive who's ever argued with him?"

"Only his wife, and she's terrifying. She's in France at the moment supervising a school trip, or she'd have been here with us. The wives and girlfriends have always had a great support network."

"But presumably this is the first time you've had a same-sex couple to deal with?"

Claire nodded. "One or two are being stupid about it, but most don't care. Look, I've made up the spare bed for you. Come and stay with me and Ditzy. You shouldn't be here alone."

Stephen was about to protest and say he'd be fine. But he realised he didn't want to be alone. "Thanks Claire, I really appreciate that. Just let me grab some stuff."

Ditzy and Claire had a new house on one of the newer estates in town. It looked like hundreds of others from the outside, but inside it was bright and comfortable, with cushions and throws everywhere.

Ditzy was in the kitchen concocting something that looked vile but smelled fantastic. To Stephen's amazement he hugged him. "You look like shit, mate. Sit down and have a drink. Dinner'll be ready in about half an hour. And whenever you're ready to go to bed, just say."

"Thanks, Ditzy, I …" He was genuinely lost for words. Aside from Ryan, he just wasn't used to people caring about him and doing things for him.

Ditzy was watching him critically and it was like he could tell what Stephen was thinking. He said: "I don't think you know what you've got yourself involved with, Stephen. It's like the bloody Mafia! No one has to struggle on their own."

Stephen nodded, but was saved from replying by the doorbell.

"That'll be Lyle. D'you want to let him in, Stephen?"

Lyle was dressed in his trademark tight teeshirt and jeans. "Hey, how you doing, kiddo?" He dragged Stephen into a hug.

"I'm OK." Lyle's strong arms felt good around him, and Stephen allowed himself to relax for a second before gently disentangling himself.

"Liar."

"How was Tom when you left?"

"Spark out after all the visitors. The Major'll have a quiet night."

They sat round the kitchen table to eat, and Stephen realised how hungry he was, having survived the past ten days on sandwiches and takeaways. He had two helpings of the stew, followed by two bowls of ice cream.

At 7.30pm Claire headed off to her yoga class. Ditzy stuck the kettle on and made a pot of tea.

"So what did the quack say this morning?" he asked.

Stephen shrugged. "What you'd expect. Amazing progress, but a long way to go and they're worried an infection might set in. He can't move until the wounds start healing. He'll need speech therapy. And they want him to see a shrink."

"Hoo-fucking-ray," said Ditzy with surprising vehemence.

Stephen frowned. "You've tried to get him to see one in the past, haven't you?"

Ditzy nodded. "Yeah, and he went apeshit. The only way it was going to happen was if I got Preston on the case, and that was my last resort."

"That explains a lot …"

"The boss told you what happened …?'

"In Bosnia? Yep."

"Fuck, he really does trust you then."

"He'll never agree to see a shrink." Lyle set his mug down with rather too much force, spilling half of it over the table.

"I know …" Stephen pushed a serviette over and Lyle swirled it absent-mindedly through the spillage.

"He needs to see one, though, and I never thought I'd hear myself say that about any of us. Although how the fuck d'you tell a shrink that you've survived being eaten by a fucking dinosaur?"

"Future predator," said Stephen absently.

"Yeah, whatever."

"He's not going to be able to dodge it this time," said Ditzy, topping up their mugs with tea. "If he's got a quack and the Major on the case, he hasn't got a chance in hell of pretending he doesn't need the counselling."

Lyle seemed about to add something, but was silenced by a venomous look from Ditzy. And it was only when Stephen was curled up in bed later in the comfortable spare room, that he realised they'd all studiously ignored the elephant in the corner of the room – whether Ryan would ever be fit again for active service.

~*~*~*

By the end of the week they'd raised the head of Ryan's bed, so it at least looked like he was sitting up. But Stephen noticed the nurses checked him regularly, and moved him very slightly every so often.

"Hey, now you can watch the world go by," said Stephen, kissing his bruised and ripped knuckles.

Ryan nodded and touched Stephen's cheek with an unsteady hand.

"Got some reading matter to improve your mind … Ah, someone else has obviously had the same idea. Who brought you these?" Stephen picked up a pile of paperbacks from the bedside table. Ryan pointed to a card and Stephen opened it. The all-too-familiar handwriting said: "With all good wishes for a full and speedy recovery. Kindest regards. Nick Cutter."

Stephen crumpled the card between his fingers. "Fuck him! He left you to die! He's got no fucking right …"

"Stephen …" The whisper was low and hoarse. "Don't blame him. He's not a medic. He panicked. All the blood … He couldn't have found a pulse under all the blood and guts …"

Stephen flinched. "Yeah, whatever." He took a deep breath, aware that people were staring at them, and Naomi looked like she was about to come over and make trouble. "OK. Now, I've brought you a milk shake, and some soup. You want some now?"

Ryan nodded, pointing to the milk shake. Stephen held it as he sucked carefully at the straw. When he'd had enough, he smiled at Stephen, and reached out for his hand.

"You want me to read to you for a bit?"

Ryan nodded.

"OK, so you get a choice. A willy-waving thriller from that Aussie guy with the macho soldiers. A history of the SAS that came out yesterday, and Lyle sent over. Or Alan Bennett's short stories."

Ryan thought for a moment, then pointed to the latter.

"Bloody hell, that's a bit civilised!" And Stephen burst out laughing as Ryan gave him the finger. He opened the book one-handed and putting on his best Yorkshire accent, acquired in the school playground, he began to read. And hearing Ryan laughing – this strange muted gasp – was the most beautiful sound in the world.

~*~*~*

The next day Ryan's previously positive mood seemed to have dissipated. He slept a lot of the time, and answered in monosyllables – and Stephen didn't think he was trying to rest his voice.

"Tom, I know this is a fucking nightmare for you, but you've got to be patient. They're not going to let you home until you can get out of bed. Everything's got to heal first."

The words seemed to go over Ryan's head. Not being able to see his face was the worst for Stephen – all that was visible were two bloodshot eyes and a pair of cracked and split lips.

"You know what you asked me to promise you when we were at Gran's?" Ryan's voice was thin and hoarse.

"What?" Stephen was confused.

"That I'd dump you quickly and not string you along. Well, I'm doing it now. I want you to go. Thanks for everything you've done for me." He turned away from Stephen.

"No fucking way! I'm here and I'm staying."

"What happens if I say I don't want you any more?"

"I won't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because you asked me to marry you. Because you gave me this ring. Because of all those expensive presents you've bought me. Because of everything you've said to me. I'm never leaving you. Ever."

An age seemed to pass before Ryan said: "Chances are I'm going to be a cripple for the rest of my life, and I'm going to need countless operations. You don't want or need to put up with all of that. So go now and find someone else."

And finally Stephen began to cry, unleashing all the tensions and fears from the last couple of weeks. "D'you really think so little of me as that?"

"Stephen, stop it …"

He knew tears embarrassed Ryan, but he couldn't help it. "Let me get this right. You think I'll go and leave you? No fucking way! I love you and I'm going to be beside you every inch of the way as you get better."

"If I get better."

"When you get better. You're a fighter, Tom, and you're going to be OK. And we're getting hitched as planned, even if I have to carry you down the aisle!"

For the first time Ryan smiled. "I'd like to see you try."

Stephen could see that Ryan's energy was ebbing, so he stretched out and entwined their fingers. As Ryan fell asleep, he squeezed Stephen's fingers. "Love you," he whispered.

"Love you forever." Stephen let the tears fall onto the sheets.

~*~*~*

Stephen turned up the next morning to find Shona, the little Irish girl who treated him and Tom like faintly naughty older brothers, waiting for him at the entrance to the unit.

"Shona, what is it, is he OK?"

"He's fine, Stephen. I just thought I should warn you that they've taken the face mask off, and it'll be a bit of a shock for you …"

"Oh, OK. Thank you for warning me."

She nodded and squeezed his arm. "Shall I come over with you?"

"Thanks, but I'll be fine."

Ryan was sitting up in bed, watching the door. And suddenly Stephen was glad of all those years where he'd learned to keep all his emotions hidden. It meant he could take in his lover's unrecognisable, mutilated face and lean over and kiss those terrible scars. And it meant he could hold his lover in his arms as Ryan finally broke down and cried.

~*~*~*

"So he's coming home Friday?" Claire passed him a cup of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives.

"So they say. He's got to have physiotherapy and speech therapy sessions in Hereford several times a week. He doesn't know that I know, but they've also fixed up for him to see a shrink."

"Not surprised. What about the plastic surgery?"

"He'll have to go back to Birmingham for that."

Claire nodded. "Does he know you still want to go ahead with the civil partnership?"

"Yep. He tried to dump me and do the martyr act, but I yelled at him and hammered some sense into his thick head."

"Good. Bloody macho soldiers! Now, the booking's fine and we should firm up the catering arrangements. What about a photographer?"

"Do we need one?"

"Yes, if you want a record of the day. Otherwise you have to rely on seeing what other people take. If you don't want to hire an official one, ask Cara. She was doing a photography course at the college before Beth came along, and I know she's intending to go back to it when she starts school."

"It'd be good to keep it in the family, so to speak. And we'd pay her. D'you reckon she'd do it?"

"One way to find out." Claire grabbed her mobile and dialled a number. "Hey sweetie, it's Claire. Stephen's here with me now, and we're wondering if you'd do the photos for the civil partnership. They'd pay you, of course. Oh, that's fabulous! I'll get Stephen to talk to you properly about it sometime. You know the boss is coming home Friday … I'll see you soon, sweetheart. Yeah, and you."

She set the phone aside and pulled her list back over. "I assume you're not fussed about flowers?"

"Nope, I'm sure we can do without those."

"Music?"

"Tom was muttering something ages ago about some of the lads in one of the units playing in an Irish band."

"That rings a vague bell. I'll ask Ditzy later if he knows. It'd be a good laugh to keep that in-house as well. Now, what are you proposing to wear?"

"Um, no idea …"

"The boss'll be in his uniform, so you can't turn up in your teeshirt and jeans. Do you possess any suits?"

Stephen shook his head.

"Right, I feel a shopping trip coming on."

~*~*~*

Ryan walked back through the front door two months to the day after the attack. He'd lost getting on for three stone and much of his body mass, and he was unsteady on his feet. But he was walking with crutches and his voice was growing stronger.

There was a steady stream of visitors that evening, and eventually Stephen had to evict the Major, Lyle, Ditzy, Blade, Kermit and Finn at 10.30pm when Ryan was clearly struggling to stay awake. They all hugged him awkwardly, and Stephen could see how much it meant to the usually undemonstrative Ryan to be back with them.

Ryan slept a lot over the next week or so. Stephen delivered him to the base twice a week for physiotherapy, to the hospital every Tuesday for speech therapy, and to a counsellor in town every Thursday. Ryan said nothing about what those sessions produced, and Stephen didn't ask, but the soldier was very quiet after them.

They were having their traditional Friday night Indian takeaway three weeks after Ryan was discharged when he said suddenly: "When are you due back at work?"

Stephen shrugged. "I've got indefinite leave until such time as the Major and Lester decide I can go back. Those two are like some sort of double act."

Ryan's lips twisted into what Stephen now knew was the nearest he could get to a smile. "Yeah, and I'm not sure which one's Mister Nice Guy. I've been doing a lot of thinking, and also talked to the quack and the shrink, and the consensus is that I shan't be fit again for frontline duty. A mate of mine is emigrating to Australia and wants to sell me his fitness centre, so I'm going to buy him out. It's what I'd planned to do anyway once I retired."

"It sounds ideal. Where is it?"

"Bristol. Stephen, I've probably got no right to ask you this, as it'll fuck up your academic career, but will you come and run and it with me?"

"Yes, of course I will!"

"But what about …?"

"I don't have an academic career any more. I resigned from CMU a month ago and have just finished working my notice."

"Fuck, Stephen, you never said anything …"

"There were more important things to worry about. I can't work with Cutter any more, and it was obvious I'd have to be the one to go. Lester's been an absolute fucking star and he's got me on a consultant's contract with the Home Office. He hasn't said so, but I think that's what he'll do with the others once this research centre starts up."

"Stephen, you can't keep blaming Cutter for what happened."

Stephen shrugged. "At least I'll never have to see him again. Now, I could get a job on a building site for a few months if Lester wants me to resign…"

"You won't. We're not going to be short of money. This house is nearly paid for, and I'll get a good army pension and a load of compensation. And I can guarantee you there'll be some hush money from the Home Office as well. We're going to be fine."

Stephen nodded and reached out for Ryan's hand. He was slightly worried by the soldier's calmness, and had a feeling that he wasn't going to find the transition to civilian life easy. But they'd be in it together.

~*~*~*

Stephen finished dressing and stared at himself in the mirror. Claire and Abby had taken him shopping and by the time they'd finished hauling him from shop to shop he'd wanted to get hitched in his jeans and teeshirt. He didn't possess any smart clothes, so he didn't quite recognise the person staring back at him wearing black tailored trousers, a green silk shirt and a black waistcoat, both with upright collars.

"Stephen … Oh fuck, you look …" Ryan was in the bedroom doorway, staring at him.

"Overdressed?"

"Beautiful," said Ryan simply.

Stephen knew he was blushing. "Thank you. But I feel like a kid who's raided the dressing-up box. I'm not used to dressing smart."

"Look, are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, you're going to end up hitched to the Elephant Man …" Ryan indicated his scarred body.

Stephen just looked at him, and Ryan obviously took the hint, shrugging ruefully and limping over to where his dress uniform was hanging on the wardrobe door. He stood looking at it for a minute or so, and Stephen could sense his sadness, that it would be the last time he wore it.

"Let me help you."

Ryan nodded, and allowed Stephen to do the buttons up on the shirt and to help him on with the jacket.

"You look fabulous."

"And you need your eyes testing. Now, as Lyle would say, time for me to take you up the aisle …"

"Later, big boy."

~*~*~*

"Oh wow, where did you find this place?" Abby looked gorgeous in what she described as her girl clothes. Connor, unaccustomedly neat in a smart shirt and waistcoat, danced nervous attendance.

"Claire, Ditzy's wife, found it."

"It's gorgeous."

"Yes, she played a blinder." The tithe barn, out in the Herefordshire countryside, looked perfect in the sun. And Stephen could see Cara and her cameras scoping out the small bower in the grounds where the actual ceremony would take place.

"Um, Stephen, I know now's probably not the time, but Nick asked me to give you this." Abby handed him an envelope.

"Thanks." Stephen opened it reluctantly. Inside was a cheque for £100 and a card wishing them all happiness together. His first instinct was to rip it to shreds, but he decided they'd donate the money to the air ambulance fund.

Abby took it out of his hand. "You've got no pockets. I'll give it to the Captain's grandmother, who seems to be in charge of the presents."

Ryan joined them, accepting a kiss from Abby and shook hands with Connor. He'd refused to use a wheelchair, and looked slightly unsteady on two sticks. But when Stephen had raised the matter earlier, he'd received a short, sharp, unrepeatable instruction in response.

The registrar was a small, smiley woman who looked around her and said: "What a gorgeous setting. It's the first time I've done one here. Now, if you're ready, gentlemen, let's get everyone gathered round."

Stephen didn't remember much about it later, apart from signing the paperwork, and the cheers and wolf-whistles when he and Ryan kissed. As they turned to go inside the barn for the reception, Preston, Lyle, Ditzy, Blade, Kermit and Finn formed a guard of honour, each of them holding something in their hands. Cigarette lighters flared and each of the soldiers lit a fuse and counted to three, throwing the objects high up into the air.

Ryan began to laugh. "Stupid fuckers! They've stuck detonators into bloody replica hand grenades."

There was a series of explosions, and then a shower of confetti floated down from a perfect, cloudless sky.


End file.
